


A Guide And Not A Jailor

by Vulcanodon



Category: The Lone Ranger (2013)
Genre: Angry Sex, Basically a lot of porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 08:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulcanodon/pseuds/Vulcanodon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One of these days John really should tell Tonto that he knows the ancient tradition act is bullshit."</p><p>Not very surprisingly, only having sex for convenience doesn't last very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Guide And Not A Jailor

One of these days John really should tell Tonto that he knows the ancient tradition act is bullshit. It would have been even better if he had done it before they started getting...well, intimate. John does realize this. The trouble was that before they did it, John was spending most of his time trying to forget they had and while they did it was well...distracting to say the least. When it was over and John was left sweaty, used and trying to remember how to breath Tonto would get up and walk away as if nothing had happened. 

It was remarkable how little John had suspected it the first time it happened (except maybe that wasn't entirely true). The illicit staring he had been participating whenever Tonto had looked away, not to mention the absent-minded daydreaming on John's part had given him an all too accurate image of his own feelings. But the realization that they were, in whatever twisted form, reciprocated was all together a different kettle of fish. 

The first time had begun with one of their typical fights. What it had been about was anybody’s guess, beginning as a disagreement over hostage negotiation and very quickly devolving into petty insults and name-calling. It had continued after they had actually rescued the hostages in question and went on until they had started setting up camp in the evening. John had been sulking for the last two hours, sullenly glaring at Tonto who had been arch and cold in the most infuriating of ways. They hadn't spoken to each other over their dinner of (thankfully non carnivorous) rabbit and it was only as they lay down head to head in their bedrolls by the fire that Tonto had broken the silence. 

"There is ancient Comanche tradition." he'd begun and John had thought, Uh huh, I'll bet.

"Like drinking from someone's glass to show respect?" he'd said instead. 

"No." 

"What is it then?" John had asked apprehensively. 

"Fucking resolves unwanted tension." Tonto had said, no noticeable change in his tone. 

For a moment all John could do was blink. And blink again. He sat up and looked down at Tonto who was stretched out, eyes closed, looking about as relaxed as it was possible to be. 

"Uh, do you mean with a lady?" John had said, aware he was blushing rather hard. 

"See any ladies?" Tonto had said, eyes still closed. 

"Um." John realized his voice had gone a little higher than normal and cleared his throat. 

He had meant to say at that point, don't be ridiculous. We're both men for one thing and if you think I'm going to fall for your phony wisdom again you're sadly mistaken. That sort of thing just isn’t done and even if it was I wouldn’t be doing it with you.

Tonto had opened his eyes at that point and was looking at John with a quizzical expression on his face. His eyes were very dark. It was at that point that John had made a decision that was in retrospect a truly terrible mistake. 

“Well… if it's a tradition." he had said weakly. 

It embarrassed John to remember just how quickly he'd come that first time. He wasn't sure whether it had been the sharp bite of Tonto's teeth at his neck, the rough calloused friction of his hand on John's dick or the simple touch of another persons skin on his (and it had been far too long since the illicit and frenzied touches back East). Whatever the reason it had barely been five minutes before John had been crying out his climax into Tonto's neck, his mind filled with white heat, the taste of Tonto's sweaty skin in his mouth. 

Tonto had looked at him steadily as he brought himself off, pushing away John’s offer of assistance, eyes dark and hooded. When he came, his free hand had gripped tightly at John's hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave three dark bruises. John had found them the next morning and pressed them slightly when Tonto was looking away, hiding his slight gasp.

They hadn't talked about it afterwards. John hadn't really known how to start. Then there had been horse rustlers and more than a few unexpected explosions and in all the chaos John had damn near forgotten about the whole thing. 

It's a full three days later that Tonto grabs him by the shirt in the middle of an argument about god knows what. John had been braced for a punch to the jaw but it was the kiss that had knocked the breath out of his lungs. John barely had time to remove the mask before Tonto had his lips wrapped around his cock. It had been the first time anyone had ever done that for him and the act itself would have been enough to undo him. But when John thinks back it was the way Tonto had almost seemed to glower up at him that had sent him over the edge, Tonto's eyes almost black with arousal, the way he had growled when John had wrapped his hands around Tonto's cock.

And now it was almost two months later and the guilt was getting really bad. It wasn’t exactly for the reasons he should have been feeling guilty, the ones hammered in by the good book. The good old ‘eternal damnation’ deterrent. Maybe it would have been easier if it had been. 

And it wasn’t in any way due to lack of enjoyment. 

That part was certainly just fine in John’s book. More than fine. Pretty goddamn amazing in fact. And he was fairly certain there were no complaints on Tonto’s end, judging from the noises Tonto made and the marks he left on John’s skin. 

It hadn’t stopped the arguing, that was the only thing. If anything they seemed to be arguing more often than ever before, picking fights over the smallest things. Yesterday John had made a snide comment about the ‘shortcut’ Tonto had suggested. John had spent a large remainder of the morning sucking him off against a tree. It had been right about the point that John was groaning at the feel of Tonto’s hands gripping at his hair that he had realized that he hadn’t actually been that angry at all. If anything it had been exciting, a warm sort of glow in his chest even as he was scowling and spitting out insults. 

If nothing else the whole experience was giving him very confusing reactions when he got angry. That was a good enough reason in itself to stop. He didn’t want to start getting inconvenient hard-ons in bar fights. John could hear the campfire songs now: The Lone Ranger, mysterious masked masochist.

The real reason was a little more painful to admit, even to himself. It wasn’t just inconvenient physical reactions John was developing. There had been a moment about a week ago when a shootout had gone very badly indeed. Badly to the extent that John had been locked in an old cabin that had been inconveniently set on fire. John had been halfway dead from smoke inhalation by the time Tonto had knocked the door down and pulled him out. Later that night Tonto had been furious in a way John hadn’t seen before, a kind of seething cold rage that had been almost scary.

Before setting out after the bandits he had kissed John once, with a strange sort of intensity that John hadn’t understood completely. John had tried to kiss back, moving his hand down Tonto’s chest. He hadn’t been about to let a little acrid smoke spoil his chances at getting off but Tonto had pulled back, looking vaguely annoyed. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Tonto said and pushed him gently down onto the blankets. It had been at that moment that John had realized that Tonto’s anger wasn’t actually at him at all. That had been his first thought. The second had been more along the lines of Fuck, I’m not sure this is about ancient Comanche traditions anymore. 

And then things weren’t that simple anymore. 

Suddenly John was having to bite back words when Tonto fucked him, biting at Tonto’s skin to stop them spilling out. He was pulling his arm over his eyes to stop from looking up into Tonto’s, licking at his neck to stop from kissing him. Everything felt a little raw, a little too close to the bone. 

And the very worst part, the part where the guilt came in waves was that John was beginning to suspect that Tonto hadn’t been lying about it being a tradition at all. John had always vaguely assumed Tonto had been making it up, had always vaguely assumed that pretty much all of what Tonto said was made up to some extent. 

But if he wasn’t? If he really truly did believe this was just some rite, a convenience, a perfectly matter of fact, ‘no feelings involved fuck’ sort of thing? Then John should really stop before this got any worse. Because Tonto was a lot of things to him, but never, not for one second, convenient.

And now John was stuck. Stuck because he really shouldn’t be doing this anymore. Stuck because he really didn’t want to stop at all. 

“-and I think I’ve really fucked everything up.” He finished, letting his head drop down to the bar top in front of him. The glass of whiskey rattled by his ear at the impact. 

There was a long drawn out silence from Red who was nursing her own glass beside him. Then slowly she began to laugh, at first gently and then an all out raucous belly laugh. John let his head fall on its side so he could glare at her. 

“I seem to remember you saying you’d be a sympathetic ear.” He growled and she laughed even harder. 

“Oh you poor stupid darlin’.’” She said at last, in between gasping breaths. “Every day a new reason comes along to thank God I’m not a man.” 

“This is not the sensible advice I was promised.” John said morosely, taking another sip of amber fluid and wincing. 

She rolled her eyes and laid her hand on his arm. 

“You want sensible advice?” she said, face suddenly serious. “ Call the thing off. But please for the love of God tell him why. You may just be surprised.” 

John gave her a long look and then nodded. He threw back the rest of his drink, a gesture he immediately regretted as the burn hit his throat. 

“You’re right Red. I suppose I knew that.” He said, feeling suddenly very cold. “How much do I owe you for the liquor?” 

She looked up and him and gave him a surprisingly gentle smile. 

“Consider it on the house.” She said. “For the entertainment.” 

He smiled grimly, ignoring the ice in the pit of his stomach, and went upstairs to the room he and Tonto were sharing. He paused for a second outside the door, resting his head against the cool wood and cursing himself for an idiot. Then he pulled it open.

Tonto was sitting, sprawled on one of the beds, plucking experimentally at an old broken guitar he had found earlier. When he looked up and saw John he dropped it casually down to the side and glared.

“You were drinking?” he said, sounding offended. “Without me?’ 

John suddenly had a very clear view of how the rest of the night could go. He could snap back, say something mean and a little petty about how much of that Tonto did himself. It wouldn’t take much at all before it turned into a proper argument. And then all he would need was one little push, one heated look before things would dissolve into teeth and tongue and hands on hot, fevered skin.

It would be so very easy. And John wanted that, he really did, so badly he could almost taste it. But there were other things he wanted. Like the look in Tonto’s eyes after the fire. The easy curve of his smile. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” John blurted out and he realized he was swaying slightly. He must have drunk more than he thought. Strangely he felt more sober than he had in weeks. 

Across the room Tonto stilled and the smirk dropped from his face. John stared him down, licking his lips nervously. 

Tonto’s eyes dropped and he stood up and moved over to John. 

“Sure about that?” he asked and kissed him, hands twisted in the front of his shirt, teeth and lips almost rough on John’s. 

John gave in, just for a moment, kissing back a little desperately. If this was going to be the last time he got to do this then he was sure as hell going to make it count. 

By the time they broke apart they were both gasping for breath, eyes locked. 

“I can’t.” John said, almost pleading. “Not if it’s only going to be when we’re angry. I can’t do that anymore.”

For a moment Tonto looked up at him almost angrily then he frowned in confusion.

“You think this is about the tradition.” Tonto said slowly. His voice was almost expressionless.

John gave him a long look. 

“…Isn’t it?” he asked.

Tonto blinked up and then suddenly he was grinning and pulling John forward to kiss him again, laughing softly against his mouth. 

“Idiot. You really believe that?” Tonto said, sounding as if he was barely holding back his laughter. 

“I thought you did!” John retorted hotly. “I thought I was taking advantage of you, you jack ass. So what you just said that to get me into bed?”

Tonto pulled back to give him a look that clearly read 'well it worked didn’t it'?

“That’s…I can’t belie-“ John began to splutter. He was cut off by Tonto’s kiss, hard and insistent. 

“Wait..” John said, pulling away and ignoring Tonto’s annoyed expression. “ Is this just...I mean are we only doing this because it’s convenient?”

His heart lodged itself in his throat and he had to work very hard to look Tonto in the eye. Tonto’s eyes softened and his lips quirked into a smile, lifting one hand to smooth his thumb over John’s cheekbone. He had done the same thing after the fire. 

“You’re never convenient.” Tonto said. 

It was possibly the most romantic declaration John had ever heard. John closed the distance between their faces and kissed him hard, letting the kiss say the thing’s he couldn’t. 

John barely had time to settle his hands on Tonto’s shoulders before he was being turned and pushed down on the thin mattress. Tonto broke the kiss to moth his way down John’s neck, licking and biting at the tender skin. One of his hands snaked between John’s legs, where he rubbed his already hard cock through the thin material. John gasped and tried very hard not to come right there and then. 

“You know people might wonder why I have these.” John rasped as Tonto mouthed at his neck. Tonto gave him a long warm look and grinned. John got the impression Tonto didn’t mind that at all. 

Whatever coherent thoughts he had were cut off when Tonto unbuckled his belt, pulling his trousers down around his knees. John worked to pull off the buttons on his shirt (and why the hell did it have so many?), shrugging it off as Tonto lapped with a rough tongue at the delicate skin of his thigh. 

“Wait.” John panted, pulling away and rummaging in the bedside drawer. This was a bordello for the love of god, surely they had some…

“Aha.” He said, pulling out a small earthenware jar. He opened it up and took a quick sniff and wrinkled his nose. “Seems safe.”

He held it out to Tonto who looked at it slightly blankly. They had never done this before John realized. 

Tonto raised his eyebrows at John questioningly. 

“Sure?” he asked roughly, an almost hungry look on his face. 

John grinned down at him and nodded. Tonto leant up and kissed him hard, hands rough in John’s hair. John could only smile into the kiss, strangely giddy with happiness. 

When Tonto pressed the first finger in, slick and wet, John swore at the ceiling, feeling his toes curl. 

“Another.” He gasped at Tonto’s concerned look. Things began to blur after that, dissolving into a rhythm of slick skin and growing heat. 

When Tonto slid in for the first time, John couldn’t help but let out a groan, bucking his hips almost reflexively. The effect on Tonto was electric. His face took on a strange sort of fervor, fucking into John harder, one hand on Johns hip, the other tracing John’s lips with his thumb. 

The thrusts shook the bed, faster and harder until John was babbling nonsensically, all the things he had bitten back before. When he came it was with his shout, buried in Tonto’s broad chest, Tonto’s name on his lips. He collapsed back, sated and loose, smiling lazily up at Tonto who was still thrusting above him. John leant up and kissed him, long and wet until at last Tonto came with a strangled moan.

Afterwards as they lay tangled up in each other, the sweat slowly drying, John relished the feeling of not rolling over, turning away. That had always been the worst part. 

As if reading his mind Tonto pulled John’s mouth to his in a lazy kiss. 

From downstairs John could hear faint laughter and music. He wondered suddenly just how thin these walls were, before deciding he really didn’t give a damn. 

“We’ll still do this when we’re angry, right?” he asked as the thought struck him. 

“Obviously.” Tonto said.

John grinned and settled down to enjoy the afterglow.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the porniest thing I have ever written. Porn is a lot harder to write than I thought ( what do you call a dick that doesn't sound ridiculous for fucks sake? I distinctly remember the words 'love shaft' from the crappy romance novels I read at 14. Dear God I hope this is an improvement on that.) 
> 
> Title comes from the W. Somerset Maugh quote: "Tradition should be a guide and not a jailor."


End file.
